


to see without my eyes

by phoenixinthefire



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 1940s, Captain America: The First Avenger, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, World War II, im sorry i use so many commas :'), tiny bit of smut if you squint, why do i keep writing stucky kissing in public? i really dont know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-18
Updated: 2019-05-18
Packaged: 2020-03-07 06:08:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18867304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoenixinthefire/pseuds/phoenixinthefire
Summary: He sees the letter on the table.An eternity passes between them.“No,” he rasps, voice catching.“Yeah, Stevie.” He’s quiet. Scared.-Bucky always hears Steve before he sees him.





	to see without my eyes

Bucky always hears Steve before he sees him. His ears are attuned to the orchestra that comprises Steve, knows all his wheezes and coughs and exasperated exhales and snarky quips. He knows that rough baritone voice that swirls into his dreams and fills his days better than anything. He knows the sound of Steve’s knees creaking every time he stands, knows the sound of Steve cracking his knuckles when he’s been drawing for hours. He knows exactly how Steve will mewl and sigh when Bucky pulls him closer to his chest as he sleeps.

 

Today, Bucky hears Steve crash through the door before he sees him in a bloody heap surrounded by his pencils and notebooks.

 

Bucky whips around from the stove and abandons the bean soup he had been stirring, striding over to where Steve is on the floor and hauling him up. He lifts him onto the table, ignoring his mumblings of _I’m fine, Buck, honest, I’m alright_ , grabbing Steve’s face more roughly than he probably should.

 

“What the _fuck,_ Steve?” He breathes, eyes wild, hands pressing over Steve’s face, feeling for broken bones.

 

“I was…comin’ out of my class and, some, some shitheads started yellin’ at me-,” Steve moans, inhaling sharply and wincing in pain- “they called me a _fag_ , Buck-”

 

“And lemme guess, you tipped your fuckin’ hat and skipped past ‘em-”

 

“Bucky,” Steve says, incredulous. “They were bein’ god-awful to me, I couldn’t just-”

 

“Yes, Steve, you _could_ have,” Bucky spat, voice like fire. “You _could_ have let them talk, you _could_ have kept your goddamn head down and kept walking, but you have such a fucking _complex_ you can’t let anyone scratch your pride with so much as a _toothpick-_ ”

 

“Buck, why are you so upset?” Steve says, his voice edging close to shouting. “You’re not the one with a busted lip and a-”

 

“Because _you don’t understand what seeing you like this does to me_ , Steve,” Bucky shouts, his voice nearly hysterical, his eyes wide and wet. “Because I _fuckin’ love you-_ ” he says, jabbing Steve’s chest with his index finger and dropping his voice to a grating whisper- “and you don’t have enough goddamn sense to keep yourself from comin’ home to me in pieces. One of these days you’re gonna get yourself _killed,_ and then I’m done for, Steve. You can’t do this to me, pal.” His voice cracks on the last word and he turns away, wringing his hands, walking to the bathroom to get the first aid kit.

 

Steve is quiet as Bucky cleans his face with a washcloth, then dabs at his cuts with alcohol. He’s still angry, Steve can feel it, but his hands are gentle.

 

“I’m sorry,” Steve murmurs, looking up at Bucky. As much as Steve could keep fighting, he knows Bucky is right.

 

“Don’t be sorry, Stevie, just quit bein’ such a dumb punk,” Bucky says without stopping his work. He drops a quick kiss onto the top Steve’s head before stepping back with his hands on his hips.

 

“Take off your shirt, lemme see how bad it is.”

 

Steve manages to protest for a few seconds before Bucky shoots him an absolutely _murderous_ glare. Steve rolls his eyes and shucks off his coat, then pulls off his tie and unbuttons his shirt.

 

There’s a nasty bruise blooming at his collarbone, and another under his ribs. Bucky’s face crumples as he ghosts his hands over them. Nothing’s broken, thank god, except maybe Steve’s pride.

 

 “ _Jesus,_ Stevie. Why you gotta do this to yourself?” Bucky breathes, his voice pained.

 

“It’s nothin’, Buck. I’m fine, really. I gave ‘em hell, I swear,” he says, the corner of his mouth lifting into almost a smile. “Socked one of ‘em right in the face.”

 

Bucky finally cracks a smile. He’s walking back to the bathroom to put away the first aid kit when he hears Steve jump down from the table and spit out a string of profanities.

 

Bucky whips around to see the soup boiling over the side of the pot onto the stove.

 

“Mother _fucker_!”

 

-

 

Steve just laughs like the snarky asshole he is as Bucky scrubs burnt soup from the stove grates.

 

“Shut _up,_ Rogers, I swear to god I’ll sleep on fuckin’ the couch for a week.”

 

-

 

Steve’s hand jerks and his pencil streaks across the page of his sketchbook when Bucky comes in, throwing the door open loudly, whistling resonantly. He’s holding a large bag of groceries, trying not to lose his balance as he kicks his shoes off.

 

“Jesus _fuck,_ Bucky! Don’t come in like that!”

 

Bucky stops whistling, sets the bag down on the counter of their shitty little kitchen and turns to Steve with a look of mock offense painted on his face.

 

“Now, Steve, that is _no_ way to talk to your fella,” Bucky says, pulling their ration books out of his pocket and dropping them into a broken-handled drawer. “Come help me put this all away, won’t you, dear?” he says, batting his eyes ridiculously.

 

Steve gets up from the table with a scowl and stalks over to Bucky. Bucky smiles at him adoringly and leans down to kiss him. Steve makes to pull away, wanting to keep up the game a little longer. Bucky tsks but before he can grab Steve’s face, Steve leans up to kiss him, deep and slow, tongue tracing over Bucky’s bottom lip, impossibly tender, impossibly lustful, establishing control wordlessly. Bucky keens in the back of his throat, all his levity leaving him at once. He leans into Steve like he’s the sun, quiet and wanting.

 

“ _Steve,_ ” he breathes, “the groceries.”

 

“Fuck the groceries,” Steve growls against Bucky’s neck, pushing him against the counter with his hips.

 

Bucky clutches at the counter, dropping his head back and letting his mouth fall open as Steve plants hot kisses down his neck, behind his ear, under his collar. He reaches up to cup Steve’s neck but Steve swats his hand away, glaring at Bucky, who whines.

 

“No,” Steve says, a husky whisper. He tilts his head to the side tantalizingly. “You made me mess up my drawing, Buck. You don’t get to touch.”

 

Bucky knows better than to fight Steve when he’s like this. He places his hands back behind him on the counter and steels himself.

 

Steve smiles fondly, nudging Bucky’s suspenders off his shoulders. He loves playing with Bucky, loves making his skin buzz and his heart spin.

 

He starts unbuttoning Bucky’s shirt, with an agonizing slowness that makes Bucky pant, “ _Jesus,_ Steve, come _on.”_

One button. A kiss. Another button. A purple mark sucked into pale skin. He gets his shirt all the way open, tracing his long fingers over the smooth planes of Bucky’s chest, the muscles in his sides, making him shudder. He presses his lips to Bucky’s shoulder and trails his hands behind, lower, dipping into the waist of Bucky’s slacks. Bucky makes a strangled noise in his throat and cants his hips forward helplessly.

 

“You sure about that, Barnes?” Steve says, pulling away, panting. Bucky is hard against his hip. Steve’s getting there too, he feels it thrumming in his veins, in his head. Nothing else gives him this thrill, nothing in the world makes him feel the way Bucky does. Bucky is breathing hard, his chest heaving. His cheeks are aflame and his eyes are half-closed, his lips flushed and parted.

 

“ _Please, Steve, I wanna touch you, please, baby, fuck Steve I need you,”_ his words stumble over one another, dripping with want. Steve hears it on his voice, thick like honey.

 

“That was awfully quick,” Steve says teasingly.

 

“ _Steve if you don’t touch me right fucking now I’m gonna pass out, please baby-”_

 

Steve loses his composure, pulling Bucky’s belt out of its loops and yanking his zipper down, thrusting a skinny hand down the front of Bucky’s pants. He moans brokenly.

 

They forget about the groceries for a little while.

 

-

 

Bucky’ getting home late. He picked up an extra shift at the docks after one of the guys called out, and he’s tired but happy for the extra money- he’ll shove it into the tin box at the back of their top cabinet that Steve can’t reach. It’s cold as hell, the December chill seeping through his coat and scarf. His hands are grimy, his clothes smell like briny water and oil, his back is aching somethin’ awful, but he’s only a block from home. A block from Steve. It’s getting dark; the stars hazy but bright through the smog. Twinkling just for him.

 

He turns the key in the lock, the metal glinting in the dim hallway, and is halfway through the door when he feels that he’s stepping on the mail. He stoops down and gathers the stack, then closes the door quietly. He’s about to throw it onto the table next to Stevie’s pencils to sort through tomorrow when he sees it. He catches a glimpse of “SELEC-” on the upper corner of an envelope, buried in the middle of the stack.

 

All the air is sucked out of his lungs in an instant. He feels his stomach turn, his neck goes hot, _no,_ he thinks, _no no no no no no,_ and then he’s lurching forward to see the whole letter.

 

 _SELECTIVE SERVICES – OFFICIAL BUSINESS,_ it reads in the corner. _JAMES BUCHANAN BARNES._ Their address. Brooklyn, New York.

The paper is stiff and creamy white, the letters dark and crisp. Stark, cold, knowing. Bucky’s whole life, in these stamps of ink. His fingers are trembling uncontrollably as he tears the envelop open, retrieving a neatly folded piece of paper. _ORDER TO REPORT FOR INDUCTION_. His eyes skitter to the bottom of the page. _29 th day of December,1941. _Two weeks. Bile rises in his throat, sharp and quick and he’s stumbling to the sink to be sick. His eyes sting with tears, and he swipes at them with the back of his hand and bites out a curse under his breath.

 

“Bucky?”

 

Steve appears in the doorway of their bedroom. He’s been sleeping, his hair is tousled and his cheeks are rosy. He’s only wearing his shorts and one of Bucky’s shirts; it hangs off one shoulder, exposing a sharp collarbone. He runs a hand over his face and flexes a slender ankle and Bucky tries not to shatter.

 

“Are you okay?” he says softly, his voice husky. “You look green, are you sick or-”

 

He sees the letter on the table.

 

An eternity passes between them.

 

“No,” he rasps, voice catching. He rubs at his throat, grabbing for something, anything.

 

Bucky just nods, willing himself to stay on his feet. “Yeah, Stevie.” He’s quiet. Scared.

 

And then Steve is surging forward, shoving Bucky hard with both hands. “ _No,_ you can’t do this to me Buck, you gotta find a way around it,” he’s frantic, pounding Bucky’s chest with his fists. “ _You can’t leave me, Bucky, you can’t leave me here, you can’t leave me_ ,” he says. His words spill out of his mouth, fiery and pleading. Bucky’s face crumples, the dam falls, and he’s wrapping his arms around Steve, around the whole world, and Steve’s anger melts, crumbling, as he breaks into sobs against Bucky’s chest.

 

They stand in the dark, and Bucky holds Steve against him, around his waist and the back of his neck. Bucky still has his coat on, but it doesn’t remedy the ghastly chill seeping into his bones.

 

“How long til you leave?” Steve murmurs, sniffling.

 

“Two weeks,” Bucky replies shakily.

 

Steve buries his face in Bucky’s neck, his whole body heaving, the tears falling hot and wet down Bucky’s throat.

 

“ _I’m sorry, Stevie,”_ Bucky whispers. “It’s just training, I’ll be okay.”

 

Steve just holds Bucky tighter, like he’ll slip right through his fingers if he doesn’t grip him hard enough.

 

“We’ll still have a good Christmas,” he manages, but his voice is thick, pained. It sounds like a lie even to his own ears.

 

They clutch each other in their dark kitchen as the world falls apart around them.

 

-

 

The train platform is hot and stuffy inside. Hundreds of young men in neatly pressed uniforms just like Bucky’s pace around, saying their farewells to their overbearing mothers and stiff fathers and anxious siblings. Something hangs in the air; not quite optimism, not quite fear. These men, from different lives, different jobs, families, all become one now. They are one hat, one coat, one tie, one pair of shoes. A million different sounds, snippets of conversations fly past, swirling into the hazy smoke from the train. As the men begin to load onto the train, they turn soft. They hold their dames by the waist, pressing last kisses to lipsticked mouths, powdered cheeks.

 

Bucky’s oddly quiet, but jumpy like a dog. His leg is bouncing and he’s tapping his hands against his thighs anxiously. His duffel bag is slung over his shoulder and he’s looking everywhere but Steve.

 

“Bucky,” Steve says firmly.

 

“…hm?” Bucky replies, still not looking down at Steve.

 

“Buck, what the hell is up with you?” Steve says, growing slightly irritated. They’re about to be separated for a year and he isn’t giving Steve a proper goodbye. He’s being pushed on all sides by restless bodies and the jostling just flusters him further.

 

Wordlessly, Bucky grabs Steve by the wrist and starts weaving them through the crowd, away from the train. “Bucky, what are you-” Steve starts to ask but suddenly he finds himself pulled around a corner into a dark hallway, empty save for a dusty payphone.

 

Bucky finally gazes down at Steve and without so much as a glance around kisses Steve full on the mouth. Steve’s breath catches in his throat and he pulls away, eyes wide.

 

“ _Buck_ , what the fuck are you doing, you wanna get us arrested?” Steve says, hushed.

 

“It’s alright, Stevie, there’s no one around,” he says as he starts to dig in his bag for something.

 

“Bucky, _what_ are you doing-”

 

“Here.” Bucky withdraws his hand and presses a wad of cash into Steve’s hand. “It should cover about 7 months’ rent and there’s some extra for food, make sure you remember to _eat_ while I’m gone, you skinny punk, a-and you’ll be needing a new coat soon, and I’ll send back what I can while I’m gone…”

 

Steve’s jaw drops as he fans out the money in his palm. Bucky’s given him almost _four hundred_ dollars. He shoves it back at Bucky immediately.

 

“No, Buck, you know I can’t take this,” Steve says definitively.

 

Bucky takes Steve’s hand and tenderly closes Steve’s fingers around the money.

 

“Stevie, we’ve been goin’ steady for _years_ , what in the fuck makes you think I’m gonna leave you with nothin’? You work at the grocery which pays shite and you’ve still gotta pay for your classes. I knew I was gonna get drafted, I’ve been savin’ for months. I wanna take care of you,” he says, cupping the side of Steve’s face gently.  

 

Steve’s whole face feels hot. He feels like crying, to know that anyone could care about him that much.

 

“I have one more thing for you, Stevie,” Bucky says, looking into Steve’s eyes with the most earnest, loving expression and Steve knows he would do anything for that look. He would do anything for Bucky.

 

Bucky reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a small circular object, shiny bronze. He presses it into Steve’s hand. “Open it,” he says, a smile dancing across his face. Steve flicks it open. It’s a lensatic compass, with a picture of Bucky fitted on the inside lid. It’s a picture Bucky’s sister Becca took last New Year’s. Bucky looks like a picture star, his hair slicked back and eyes alight with laughter. Steve knows the look on that face. He remembers when the picture was taken. Bucky had been looking at _him._

 

“So you know I’ll always come back to you. I’m…I’m with you ‘til the end of the line, pal,”

 

Steve looks up at Bucky with tears in his eyes.

 

“It’s beautiful- _you’re_ beautiful, I…I love you, Buck. I really _really_ love you,” he says, looking down and swiping at his eyes quickly.

 

“I love _you_ , punk,” Bucky says softly, kissing Steve’s forehead.

 

Steve looks up again, his brows knitted together. “Buck, I… I-won’t be able to repay you, I can’t-”

 

Bucky smirks wickedly, bending down to brush his lips against Steve’s ear.

 

“ _I think I can think of something you might be able to do when I get back,”_ he growls, pushing Steve gently against the wall. All the blood in Steve’s body rushes to his head and he leans up and kisses Bucky, putting everything he can’t say into the flow of his lips, his tongue, and he forgets about the war, forgets about the world, forgets about everything that isn’t _Bucky._

Suddenly, footsteps. Bucky doesn’t hear. Someone’s coming, someone’s coming round the corner but Steve can’t bring himself to pull away. Let them beat him, let them arrest him, as long as he can have Bucky for just another moment.

 

“Oi!” A sharp, brash whisper cuts through the air. They spring apart, eyes wide, mouths gaping and heads jerking towards the sound. A short man is hurrying towards them, in a uniform like Bucky. Bucky squares his shoulders but Steve steps in front of him, fists clenched, jaw set.

 

But he doesn’t yell. He doesn’t raise a fist.

 

“ _You lot wanna get yerselves thrown in the slammer_?” he says, looking over both shoulders, shaking his head. “You boys oughta be more careful around here.” He’s a little older than both of them, with deep set lines across his forehead and around his mouth. But his eyes are kind, and he looks more concerned than angry.

 

“You- you ain’t got a problem?” Steve says, still on the defense.

 

“Me? You could go neckin’ with a _lamp post_ for all I care, but you’re real damn lucky I saw you and not anyone else. I don’t think too many folks would be jazzed at runnin’ into two fellas up against a wall.” Steve and Bucky both look down, embarrassed. The man’s voice softens. “Don’t sweat it. You’re lucky to have someone to come home to,” he says to Bucky, nodding at him.

 

They hear a blaring whistle, nod at one another, and haul it back to the train.

-

 

Bucky’s leaning out the window of the train while Steve stands on the ground below him. He grips Steve’s shoulder where it meets his neck, smiling at him, putting on a brave face. He has to give Steve hope, can’t let him see how scared he is inside.

 

“Don’t do anything stupid ‘til I get back!” he laughs, shouting over the noise of the train and the hundreds of soldiers and families in the station.

 

Steve smirks, maddeningly beautiful. “How can I, you’re taking all the stupid with you!”

 

The train roars to life. The whistle blows a final time. Just before the wheels starts to turn, Bucky cups Steve’s face, feather-light, lingering for half a second. It’s small and quick but the moment stretches on for a lifetime and Bucky wants to swim in it forever.

 

And then it’s over. The train starts to move. Bucky’s face cracks into a grin. He ruffles Steve’s hair, shouting “ _Punk!”_

 

Steve’s face twists into a half grin, half scowl, and the last thing Bucky sees before they roll out of the station is his fiery Steve, jabbing a finger at Bucky and yelling “ _Jerk!”_

He settles into his seat in a train car full of strangers, Steve’s voice echoing in his head like a melody.

 

He’ll hear that voice in his head for the next year, dreaming of it, feeling it rumble in his chest. His whole time on the front he plays that voice in his head to drown out the bombs, the screams.

And when he comes to consciousness on the table in the HYDRA Facility, the first thing that pierces his brain is that voice. Before he opens his eyes, he hears that voice, that breathing, and its clearer now, but still his Steve. He doesn’t _need_ to open his eyes to know that he’s safe. He’s home.

 

_He always hears Steve before he sees him._

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> hi! i'm back with a much longer fic, i hope you enjoyed!
> 
> the idea for this fic came from this article: https://mymodernmet.com/vintage-military-kissing-photos/ and while bucky couldn't kiss steve from the train they still had a lovely moment!
> 
> i used this picture: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/495958977699422885/ to base the draft letter scene from. 
> 
> aaand this nifty visual: https://www.millersamuel.com/files/2012/10/DE100yearsNYC.pdf to get an idea of rent costs!
> 
> getting the timeline of this right was pretty tricky so i had to make a few adjustments, just know that the years and ages may be a little off-canon if you care to look into it that closely ;)
> 
> song title is from sufjan stevens's mystery of love <3
> 
> i love love love comments, please feel free to drop any thoughts or suggestions, i love yall!


End file.
